


At the End of the Universe

by toujourspret (beaubete)



Category: Code Geass
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Infidelity, Prostitution, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/toujourspret
Summary: Written for the Code Geass kink meme--He can do things to Luluko that he can't to Euphie. Genderswap.Originally posted to fanfiction.net; presented here with no changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You may have already read this one; it started on the original cg_kinkmeme livejournal community (RIP) before being brought over to fanfiction.net. I'm finally archiving my old fic here on AO3, at least so I can have it here in a place where it won't be in danger of deletion just for the sake of being porny. As these are typically between 8-10 years old, there may be differences in things like fanon or characters' names' localization (mostly Milly, who was often Millay or even Mirei at the time). If this bothers, please don't read.
> 
> If you enjoy, please let me know!

She's beautiful. She's perfect and she's beautiful, and the morning light catches on her sunset-colored hair in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat. She bores him to tears.

When he'd taken her hand in both of his six months ago in front of his friends and her family and her incredibly intimidating father, he'd imagined all sorts of things. The promotion her father had promised, sure. A warm, sunny house outside the city. Children someday, maybe. He'd been ecstatic at the thought of children someday.

The problem isn't Euphie, and that might be why it stings so badly. The problem is him; it's this mean thing that bubbles up within him. He can't take that home to her, can't grind her face into the bed springs as he fucks her roughly from behind. No, he comes to Luluko for that.

She's watching him from where she's perched on the edge of the bed in the cheap, disgusting hotel room he's rented for her. It's the same room as last week. Her eyes are sharp, pinning him in place as she crosses her legs. She looks a little bit bored as he reaches up to loosen his tie.

"I must admit I was a little surprised to see you again," she says. Her voice is smooth and husky, dark as the hair resting on her shoulders. "You said you weren't coming back, didn't you? You said you had a wife to go back to." Her reminder stabs at him and he grits his teeth.

"Shut up. I don't want to talk about that with you." He shucks off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the only chair in the room. Nervously, he wonders if he's sweating through his shirtsleeves; he feels damp and clammy as the room's air conditioner kicks in with a crack like a gunshot. She shrugs elegantly.

"What  _do_  you want to talk about, then?" Her eyes are impenetrable.

"I don't pay you to talk," he snaps, then bites his lip. He doesn't like being called an adulterer. She doesn't like being called a whore.

Her eyes darken and she crosses the room in quick strides. He imagines her growling like an angry cat, her lips turned down in a bitter frown. She wraps a fist around his tie and yanks viciously, leaning up to his face. Her voice is poison-sweet. "What do you want to  _pay me for_  first, then?"

"Suck my cock," he blurts, then flinches, expecting a slap. She stares at him, expression unreadable, before releasing his tie.

"Fine." Her voice is cold. "Get on the bed."

The rasp of his zipper is loud. It's somehow louder than the hum of the air conditioning, louder than the sound of the neighbor's TV leaking through the walls. Louder than the sound of his heartbeat. His belt buckle clanks when it hits the floor. The tired old springs groan in protest as he settles back against the headboard.

Luluko is so different from Euphie, it's like they're night and day. Dusk and dawn. Euphie's wider, generously curved with a sweetly full mouth. Luluko's thin, sharp and angled with a pinched, flat mouth. They're both beautiful, but Euphie will never stand in front of him wearing nothing but these scraps of lace that Luluko calls underwear. They're tools of her trade, these stockings and suspender belt, and he finds himself irrationally annoyed at the thought of perhaps dozens of other men seeing her as she is now, her short black dress puddled on the ground as she moves to straddle his thighs. He pulls her down sharply by the hair, and she only barely manages to swerve in time, leaving him with a mouthful of black silk.

"Fuck you," she snarls, shoving at his chest to right herself. The heat of her anger touches the flare of his jealousy and ignites; he crushes her smaller body to his and tries again, this time managing to smear his lips across her chin before she slaps him. "I said-!"

He cuts her off, rolling her over to press her into the bed. Her legs come up to curl by his sides and she arches prettily, but her eyes are still livid. He knows better than to try again. Instead, he hefts her hips up to take her panties off. "If you want to kiss someone-" He reaches down to thumb her clit and she pauses, dazed for a moment. "If you want to-aah!-k-kiss..."

He smirks. Leans close to her face and stills his hands to let her catch her breath.

"Kiss your fucking wife," she bites out, and he really shouldn't be as angry as he is, but he is and his vision goes blank with anger.

He can capture and hold both of her tiny wrists in one hand and he does so, trapping them on the wall above her head. With the other, he fishes for the tie at his throat. She's glaring up at him and struggling with all her might, but she's small and weak, and it's really a marvel that, with a mouth like hers, no one's really hurt her yet. He throws her onto her belly and ties her wrists in the small of her back, grunting in satisfaction when he hears the stitches in the fabric pop from tension and her whimper of pain muffled by the pillow.

He's so turned on that the cotton of his shorts is painful. He yanks them down in the front, groaning with relief. She's glistening wet, and he barely manages to fish a condom from his pants before he nudges her legs just far enough apart and slides in deep. The angle's all wrong, so he yanks the pillow from beneath her head and grabs her hips, repositioning her. She moans loudly and he can't help answering with one of his own as he pounds her into the mattress. He can't do this with Euphie-she's too delicate, too sweet. Luluko's mean and spiteful and too easy to be cruel to. He raises a hand and slaps her ass hard, drawing a surprised squeal from her lips and a flushed to her skin.

Whore or not, she's deliciously tight, and it isn't long before he can feel himself approaching orgasm. He reaches down to flick at her clit and she almost sobs with relief, cunt tightening almost impossibly as she shakes her way through climax. He manages a few more strokes before bending down to press his teeth to a shoulder blade. Her cunt is drawing his orgasm out of him slowly, like melted sugar, and he pulls out, tearing the condom off before fisting his cock roughly. He bites down hard as he comes, shooting his load onto his tie and her bound hands.

Sagging against her, he slumps to the bed and rolls her over, ignoring her pissed off expression. He laughs weakly, reaching behind her with one hand to loosen the knots he'd made in his ruined tie. As she flexes her numb fingers to bring the feeling back, glaring balefully at him, he impulsively covers her mouth with his palm. Her eyes widen, but when he looks, there's no fear. Something unnameable swells in his chest and Suzaku leans over her, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his hand. Her eyes close and he feels her lips move against his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I accidentally stuck these at the end of a different fic, because I'm dumb. Anyway, this time I get to dedicate these chapters to the right person: this new part is inspired by [LokasennaHiddleston](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokasennaHiddleston/pseuds/LokasennaHiddleston), who left a comment asking about a continuation. I'd never meant to, but it got me thinking about what the next part would be, and the next thing I knew I had 3000 more words in this universe. I understand if this part isn't the best; it's in a very different tone than the first part, but I hope you enjoy.

He hides his wince behind the lip of the teacup, no matter how much it stings.  The tea is scalded, brewed hot as though it were coffee, and tastes muddy, wilted.  Euphie matches his smile with pure sunshine and Suzaku laughs. His tongue is already burned; what more does another sip hurt?  The smile doesn’t even waver as he tastes copper heat. 

It’s late afternoon, a beautiful, clear day.  The light filtering through the kitchen window is pure and white in squares on the linoleum floor; Euphie laughs, taking the cup from him.  It’s an early day for them, both of them out of the office and home before the sun has set. In another universe, this would mean leaning her against the counter, wrapping her arms behind his head, pressing soft kisses along the length of her throat until she opened for him.  It would mean, maybe, a child. In time, it could have meant a child. She has a splatter of sauce on her face from her cooking. His smile doesn’t dim.

Her shoulders are tight beneath his palms, drawn up and tense until he digs in with his thumbs.  She melts in beautiful inches, sighing into his touch.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”  The denial’s quick, as close to lying as she’ll ever do to him—if nothing else, Euphie is honest.  Suzaku’s heart burns in his throat.

“Nothing?  Nothing? Nothing at all?”  She squirms against the tickling, writhes in his arms in a way that still makes him shamefully hard against her.  Then—

“I told you Jeremiah’s on holiday, right?”  Her voice is soft, guilty. He could laugh at her innocence—he knows where she’s going: a mild complaint about work, something anyone else would say with no shame, but for Euphie, it’s tantamount to treason.  He’d laugh but her eyes are lavender velvet, liquid and not nearly as purple as—he’d laugh at her for her little secrets when he’s destroying her himself.

“Yeah?” he acknowledges, and she smiles, grateful he’s remembered.  She’s easy to please; he’s afraid of putting in more effort.

“Well, his cases had to be split among everyone else.  I just—” She hums. 

“Too many cases?”

“No, I just.  One of his cases—”  

She won’t say anything negative, but he can read between the lines.  “More than you can handle. Behavioral issues?”

“No!  No, the patient is sweet.  She’s very sweet, so much sweeter than you’d expect, considering.  And her sister is so patient with her, and it’s clear they love each other very much.”

“But?”

“But,” Euphie agrees, blushing.  “Jeremiah is—well, you remember him from the Christmas party, right?  He’s very tall and much stronger than I am. I had to—I mean, her sister had to help me lift her every time I had a transfer, and by the end she just.”

“Was she rude to you?” Suzaku frowns.  It’s understandable—Jeremiah was indeed a lot bigger than Euphie when they’d met, and it’s something the person delegating the cases should have thought about, but the anger is misplaced at best, and poor Euphie’s tender heart can’t take much aimed at her, even if it makes sense.

“No, and that makes it so much worse.  She’ll leave the program if it happens again, I’m sure, and Nunnally couldn’t take that.  She really needs the help. They can’t manage if her sister quits her job to be her full time carer, and that’s what would happen if they leave.”  Euphie sounds heartbroken, and. It’s.

“I can help.”  There isn’t much he can do, but at the very least he knows he can help here—there’s no one Jeremiah could lift that he couldn’t, and if it would cheer Euphie and help a sick girl, “I can.  When do you meet with them tomorrow?”

“Really?!” Euphie cries, throwing herself into his arms.

::

It works out that he’ll meet Euphie at the patient’s apartment after work; he’s standing outside the building with his tie in his pocket and his sleeves rolled when.

“—the fuck.”

He hasn’t heard that voice in three weeks; it’s the nearest he’s come to quitting her in the year and a half he’s—her fingers curl thin and clawing over his shoulder.  She’s already shoved him halfway down the stoop before Euphie is already dashing up, hair bright in the sunshine and. He closes his eyes. Swallows hard.

“Lulu!  I’m sorry I’m late.  I didn’t think he’d beat me here—Suzaku’s never come early, ever.”  Euphie’s moue is rueful, laughter in the back of her throat. Behind him, Luluko murmurs, “That you know of.”

He chokes on the laugh, on the way her nails dig in to his shoulder before releasing.  He risks a glance at her and sees she’s slitted eyes and thin, white lips. “I didn’t approve extra visitors,” she says, this time loud enough for Euphie, too.  Euphie catches it, flushing pink and awkward.

“He’s my husband.  I had to vet him at the office—your badge,” she says, offering a thin plastic badge.  There’s no scarlet ‘A’ on it. “It took a little longer than expected. I. I felt bad, yesterday—I know you had to be at work—” here, Suzaku tries his best to swallow his tongue at the stab of Luluko’s eyes knife-sharp in his chest “—and you didn’t want to go because you didn’t feel comfortable.”

And even Luluko isn’t immune to Euphie’s gentle exuberance; her mouth curls as though around bitter-sour lemon peel in the vague direction of a smile.  “I didn’t—”

“It’s okay!  Suzaku is—I trust him, completely!  He’s my husband.” 

She’s still chattering as he watches the shift across Luluko’s face: doubt, and then anger, and then a dark laugh tucks smugly in the corner of her lip.  She’s listening to his wife tell the hooker he’d slept with—had an  _ affair  _ with, if he’s honest—that he’s completely trustworthy to put his hands on her—oh god, her sister.  Her very sick sister, who needs a personal carer to make it through the day, and guilt chews through his guts as he thinks—this is why a girl like Luluko—so much pride, and she’d.  He’d. There’s a love bite in the curve of her collarbone that gnaws at him just as hard—for her sister. She’s. For her sister.

“Is he?” Luluko hums.  Her hand is on his bicep, and his whole mind skips like a record.

“I—”

“Oh, yes,” Euphie continues.  “Two tours, before he chose to become a civilian.”

“Ah.”  The little sound, triumphant.  “Soldier boy.” There’s just the edge of something slithering in it, teasing in a way that he knows Euphie won’t understand, because she could never survive the roaring creature in his chest that just Luluko’s touch brings up.  No, Euphie’s laugh at that is light, airy. Suzaku clenches to the navel.

Her sister is sweet, as sweet as Euphie had said, as sweet as Luluko is sour, but in front of Nunnally, Luluko is different.  She’s softer, gentler. The edges are all knocked off, rounded and more approachable. She stands by, silent as Suzaku gentles Nunnally into the special chair in the shower—clothes on; he doesn’t dare and wouldn’t want to, either—and later when he lifts her still warm and trusting and wrapped in fleece kitty pajamas into her bed; he and Euphie tidy uselessly in the living room as Luluko tucks her in to sleep, but Luluko’s place is the cleanest he’s ever seen.  Slightly run down, but nothing is broken, nothing is dirty. Nothing but Suzaku standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle. 

He’s setting the teapot and mugs down on the coffee table when Euphie reaches up to catch his wrist.  “Thank you, Suzaku. You. You were good with her today.” Her other hand falls to her lap, and for a long, horrible moment, he knows what she’s thinking.  Knows what she’d seen every time he’d encouraged Nunnally with a nudge to her fork, until even Luluko had let her finish her dinner without a word, every time he’d guided her fingers through the complex folds in the paper until she’d cheered with delight at a finished crane.  What she’d seen as he’d lifted her feet into the sheets without a word about the withered legs. His breath burns, what little he can catch.

“You were.”  The praise isn’t even faint; Luluko’s arms are crossed when he glances up, but under his gaze she uncrosses them, lets them drop to her sides.  Crosses them again. Glances away. Suzaku feels his throat bob.

“Nunnally’s a good girl.”  It’s all he can say. It’s the right answer.  Luluko looks back at him, and. Air rushes into his lungs again, nearly a gasp.  Her eyes are warm, soft. Euphie stands, offering her a mug. They sit.

“Are you a nurse too?” Luluko asks him, and then, “No, you said you needed to have him cleared.  What do you do?”

It’s more than she’s ever asked of him.  “Ah, I. I’m a businessman. Nothing too important.”

“Don’t let him fool you!” Euphie confides, and for a hot moment he hates her.  It’s her favorite past time: bragging about her husband. She doesn’t mean—she says that it’s to help boost his confidence, to let people know how wonderful—but it comes across as bragging, and the flash of irritation on Luluko’s face says she sees it.  “He’s head of philanthropy. Father says he’s got a gift—”

“I’ll say.”  The mocking tone is gentled, private.  Luluko’s got half a smile for him. It’s pretty.

“I just find worthy causes.”  It’s true; he locates charities and slides the paperwork already filled out across Charles’s desk for the signature he always knows he’ll get.

“And you pay them,” Luluko says.  She tips her chin up.

He could—they’re not having this conversation while his wife—he remembers the look in her eyes the last time, the way she’d laughed when he’d said—slowly, he nods.


	3. Chapter 3

It isn’t—there’s no excuse for it.  If he’s caught, there’s nothing he can say to escape, no way to forgive—Euphie’s phone gives up the information easily, phone and.  And address. The entry is in Nunnally’s name; he jots it down with shaking fingers and ends up staring at the dark ink later.

He could—he should—it isn’t—he types the number into his phone and erases it, calls and lets it ring once, saves it, deletes it.  Saves it. Drops his phone when it starts to ring in his hand, ‘Don’t touch’ calling.

Answers it.

“Did you steal this number from yo—from her?”  It’s unexpectedly gentle for such a biting indictment.  

He nods.  Her laughter is bright.

“Come see my sister.  Tomorrow. Her regular guy is back tomorrow.”

“He knows me.”

“Ah.”  Then, “She’s not what I expected.  You really are despicable.”

“I know.”

Her breath is soft into the phone.  “Come see Nunnally.”

“Nunnally?”

“Me, damn you.”

“I—”

“I’ve missed you.”

It hurts them both, her breath shaking as he curls up in his seat.  Outside the window, Euphie navigates the front gate with one hand, the other tangled in the strap of an umbrella overhead.  “She’s coming in.”

“I’ve missed you!  Do you hear?”

“I—”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“...yes.”

A sigh.  “Come see me.  Tomorrow.”

“Before work?”

She hangs up on him.

::

She’s dressed—when he’d come before, she’d been buttoned up, a sleeveless blouse with a high collar and knee length skirt.  Expecting him, it’s looser, the blouse lower-cut and the skirt a little shorter, but here in front of her blind little sister, she still doesn’t—he likes her best like this, her lip gloss sexy but her stockings demure.  He presses a little kiss to Nunnally’s forehead and watches her brows lift in pleasure; it seems he really is here to visit Luluko’s little sister, at least until Nunnally yawns over the paper he’s brought her and it’s as natural as anything he’s ever done to scoop her into his arms and carry her to her room so Luluko and put her down for a nap.  They’ve got three hours until Jeremiah comes, and he spends the first long minutes working Luluko’s stockings down, murmuring against her lips as he touches—finally, finally, and she sighs against him like all the wind’s gone out of her. 

She’s slick, ready, and his fingertips graze her with just enough pressure to leave her flushed hot in his arms.  “Luluko,” he murmurs against her; she gasps his name in return. Her clit is hard between his fingers; her nipple is hard between his teeth.

He’s hard, harder than—she fishes him out and he’s inside her before—her breath panting in his ear and his in hers until she’s laughing as he comes.  Her nails are gentle on his shoulders when he pants against her chest and eases himself out; he doesn’t even shift his hand on her thigh before he’s spread her wide and dove back in—her eyes are wide as he tastes himself on her, in her, tongue dipping in until her knee is shaking in his grip.  The salt of her, of them, is easily the most, the most arousing thing he’s ever—he tastes, slides his tongue up the slick path to her clit to lap at the shy peek of it from its hood, purses his lips around it until her cries can be heard over the press of her thighs around his ears. It isn’t until he realizes she’s pushing at his head that he registers her laughter, the way her calves have locked up, the giddy blush that’s tripped its way down the vee of her neck, the same color as pink nipples pointed on the heaving chest.

“God,” she whispers, back still arched.  He kisses at the calf nearest his face, rubs his thumbs into the cramped tightness of it.  “My god.”

His laugh against her skin is breathless.  He leans into her reach until she’s drawn him back up the length of her body; he’s sheathed inside her again before he’s recognized her hand on his cock, her cunt rippling around him with aftershocks that leave him tingling.  She’s shoving with her heels but he’s careful, gentle as he eases into the tightness with only a low ‘fuck’ and stars in his eyes. He hits bottom before he realizes there’s no skin between them, that there wasn’t before he’d eaten his own come out of her; the understanding jerks hard at the arms he’s using to hold himself over her, and when he falls, she catches him, her lips so, so soft and ginger against his cheek, his jaw.  His lips. He tastes like her cunt and she opens herself for him, hips jolting in tiny circles as he dips to taste her tongue, her lips. Her mouth. She kisses back, deeply.

She staggers when he lets her up after, legs loose in her hips and knees trembling.  It’s easy to draw her in again, to kiss her again as she pushes weakly at his chest before giving in.  He leans her against the wall as she tugs her clothes back into place and kisses her until they can hear Nunnally awake in her room; she rustles in the bedsheets and Suzaku goes to fetch her while Luluko opens the windows to air the smell of them out.  

He’s sitting with them, Nunnally’s fingers slow and careful under his tutelage, Luluko’s eyes heavy on him as he guides her into the shape of a frog.  There’s a tap at the door, careful, and when Luluko opens the door it’s Euphie, Jeremiah behind her. His brow knits—it’s still—the room  _ smells _ , still, though faintly, and he’s curled around Luluko’s sister in the floor as he coaxes the paper into the right pleats.  There’s a pregnant pause.

“Tell me again the sound that a frog makes,” Nunnally says into the silence, and Suzaku turns to her, the edges of his mouth going soft.

“Kero-kero.”

“Kero-kero,” Nunnally repeats, bright.  Luluko looks like she wants to kiss him again.

Later, Euphie is quiet.  She doesn’t scream, doesn’t slam doors.  He knows—she has to, doesn’t she? know he stole the number from her phone—and when she finally turns back to him over the bathroom sink, her tears scald him despite her watery smile.

“Euph—emia,” he says.  There isn’t anything else he can say, her full name falling between them like bricks.

“I’m not angry,” she says.  His stomach turns. “I’m not.  It’s just that for a minute there, right before—before you—it looked like you were a family.”

“That’s—”

“No.”  The word is firm.  “I want that. A family.  It looked—”  _  Like he loved Luluko _ .  The words hang between them.  “A girl like that, you never know where she’s been.”  It’s the cruelest thing he’s ever heard Euphie say about someone else, and it comes when she should be saying so much worse.

“I know exactly where she’s been.”

She’s silent for a long moment.  Then, “This isn’t how we end, Suzaku.  I know you better than that. You’re better than that.”

His laugh is brittle.  He’s always known she thought higher of him than she should.  It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her—she thinks that it’s her fault, that she introduced him to Luluko, that he’d been unable to keep his hands to himself in a single moment of passion.  “I—”

“Her little sister is the most important person in the whole world to her, you know.  No one else matters. I want that. I want a family.”

“Euphie—”

“I want it!”  And here’s the Euphemia he’d expected hours ago, the Euphemia who’d walked him home smelling of another woman’s body.  The Euphemia who’d seen through, straight through to his core and saw the filth. Still shrill, still tense: “I want it, Suzaku.”

It hurts, the single word clawing its way up from his stomach to sit on his tongue: “No.”

She freezes.  “You don’t get to say that now.  Don’t you know what you did?”

“Of course I—”

“Don’t you know?  When you went to her house, when you put your hands on her body, when you—did you?  Did you really, Suzaku?”

And stars burst behind his eyelids.  He wants to shake her, wants to scream, himself.  Wants to go back to that grubby little room and fuck Luluko until her eyes filled up with angry tears.  “What are you asking, Euphie?” he demands. He’s shaking, he realizes dimly.

“Did you—”  She can’t even bring herself to suggest it, so he does for her:

“Fuck her?  Eat her out?  Kiss her?” She flinches with each suggestion.

Her voice is quiet, broken when she answers.  “Love her.”

He could not answer.  He could walk away, which would be an answer of a kind.  He could curl her in his arms and pretend she’s the only, only girl.

“Yes.”  His voice cracks.  “Yes.”

It might have worked.  It might not. Euphie names their son Charles, for her father.


End file.
